five months, give or take

You held him for a quarter of a year
and grieved his presence the next half.
You can’t buy back that half any more
than you would consider selling that quarter.
A bird lands in your open palm
so you freeze, hold your breath,
and time stops.
You observe each other.
Inevitably some movement from within you
or outside of you –
a shudder, a sound –
sends him flying.
The world moves again
and your open palm closes and falls to your side.
Some day you will remember the imprint of his steps
and you won’t really think about his flight.
Just one fragile moment when
he came to you, and
you held him.